Why Don't You Just Drop Dead?
an excerpt

Chapter Five – They Say "That Kid, He's Got Soul"

Spencer heard the spine snap, and winced. "I really wish I didn't have to do that," he muttered. "Enjoy."

"I really appreciate this man. I know it must suck." Ryan sighed and squinted. "Is this book any good?"

"I don't know. I don't remember." Spencer poured himself a bowl of cereal. Ryan squinted and touched the book. It still freaked Spencer out to see Ryan touch something.

"So if I like, put my hand through you—"

"No, Spencer. Pete did that to me yesterday and I didn't like it very much at all. Neither did he."

"Well. What would happen?" Spencer reached out and put a hand over Ryan's transparent one. It fell through, obviously, and Spencer got the strange sensation that his whole hand had been flash frozen and thawed in two seconds. "Holy fucking shit."

"Satisfied, dick weed?" Ryan scanned over the page, and squinted again. His body flickered when he did.

"Oh! You're like, fading!" Spencer took a spoonful of cereal. "Sorry, usually I sound way more professional than this. But you're a ghost. You can't blame me."

Ryan shrugged. "It happens when I'm concentrating on something. I guess ghosts were just meant to hang around and be melancholy. And not expend energy."

"You ever wonder where you get that energy from in the first place?"

"I've been a ghost for four days. I haven't been doing a lot of wondering about my lot in life, to be completely honest." Ryan scanned down the page and turned to the next one, sighing. "This book isn't very good. I'm sorry I made you break the spine for nothing."

Spencer shrugged. "You win some you lose some. Do you want me to find another book for you?"

"Yeah...do you have any political non-fiction?" Spencer raised an eyebrow, but then nodded and got up, scanning the bookshelves before going to one of the end tables and picking one up. He cracked the spine again and put it on the table in front of Ryan.

Pete came into the front door, and squinted at Ryan. "Hey buddy. How's it hanging?"

"To the left, as always," Ryan answered idly. He sighed and began turning the pages again. "Thanks for the book," he said to Spencer.

"No problem." Spencer looked at Pete. "Still going to go to Chicago?"

"You still don't want me to?"

"I'm telling you, I still don't trust this guy," Spencer said, rubbing his face. "Want some coffee?"

"If I drink anymore coffee, I'll burst." Pete set his bag down on the floor. "Why don't you trust him?"

"Because he's a shady dude. A fucking paranormal detective who doesn't charge money? That's a bunch of bullshit."

"He hasn't charged money because we don't know all the expenses. I'll bet we get a bill at the end of the investigation."

"That's assuming there IS even an end to the investigation." Spence shrugged. "Ryan got killed. You became a woman. There's no connexion. He's taking you to Chicago, looking into our credit reports, staking us out...all for nothing. Just to charge us at the end."

"Spencer, what is your deal, honestly."

Ryan cleared his throat. "You know, I can leave. Just say the word and I'll..."

"Don't you dare," Pete said.

"No, you know, maybe it's a good idea. I don't want you to see anything you might have to report to the police."

Pete crossed his arms in front of his chest. "So you're going to fucking threaten me now?"

"Can someone open the door?" Ryan stood patiently in front of the apartment door. "I'm already going to have to expend energy getting to where I'm going, I'd rather not try to unlock this door."

Spencer went to the door and unlocked it. Ryan thanked him. "Hey, really. If one of you kills the other, I'll be glad for the company."

----

"So you can leave the apartment! This is a good development!" Patrick exclaimed when Ryan showed up at his door. "Come on in. Brendon's at the grocery store, he'll be back in a bit."

Ryan floated into the brownstone. "This is really nice."

"Yeah, living in Brooklyn is a dream," Patrick said softly. "The commute sometimes sucks but then you get to live here." He gestured towards the sofa. "Wait...never mind."

Ryan shrugged and floated down, his bum not touching the seat. He sighed. "Sorry I didn't call you or anything. Spencer and Pete are probably arguing right now."

"Brendon and I did it last night. Somehow, I think this is going to be the normal state of things while Pete is still a woman and you're still floating around."

"Do you know of any way to send me to wherever I'm supposed to go?"

Patrick took a deep breath. "That's assuming a lot of things, Ryan. The first is assuming there is anyplace to go."

"Well, wouldn't there be a lot more ghosts floating around if there weren't any place to go?"

"Ghosts are usually vestiges of humans who need something to go away. You're like debt collectors or bounty hunters." Patrick glanced at the door involuntarily. "No. I mean. Listen, ghosts technically aren't real."

"No, we are. I'm sitting here, and you're talking to me. You're not the only one who can talk to and see me. Therefore, it stands to reason, I must be real."

"Do you honestly think you're very reasonable?" Patrick sighed. "What do you think will happen once we've figured out why you're still here?"

"I'll go to heaven. Or hell. Whichever I deserve."

"You don't think you're getting some extra suffering to make yourself ready for Heaven?"

Ryan sighed. "That's some really old school way of thinking."

Patrick shrugged. "I think about many things." He held up his hand. "The point is, why do you care? You're not going to know. You're holding onto the last vestiges of consciousness for some reason. Some mortal, Earthly reason that we don't know yet. Once we figure it out, and we release you from whatever bonds are holding you to this earth, you'll go wherever it is you go, and you won't know or care or even be aware of it."

Ryan looked at Patrick. "You're an atheist, aren't you?"

"I'm a complete and utter non-believer in everything and anything, including and up to things I can sense. I'm a completely paranoid individual that really does believe that reality isn't real, at all." He sighed. "I have been doing this job a very, very long time. Paranormal detectives, ghost hunters, whatever, come in two types. Those who believe and those who don't. I don't know which camp has it easier."

"I know which camp is less depressing," Ryan said with a wink and a smile. "So, all this time...what do you really think is going on?"

"I'm thinking we're one big science experiment until the next best thing comes along. I don't think there's any real purpose other than what we've manufactured for ourselves. And even those reasons are a little shady." He tapped his fingers against his leg. "I'm sorry. Don't ever get me into conversations like this or you'll never hear the end of it."

Ryan nodded. "I don't know what I was doing here or what I'm doing here now. Someone chose me because they, like you said, manufactured some belief structure for themselves and then decided to force it on me. I would sue if I thought ghosts had any rights."

"Well. You know, that'd be the best story ever." Patrick mused about it a little while, but then shrugged. "So, sorry. Would you like a tour? You're welcome to go around yourself, but it's just a standard brownstone, nothing really cool unless you count the little space underneath the floorboards in the bathroom where I hide Brendon's beating heart."

Ryan watched Patrick's face, trying to decide whether he was joking or not. There was no real way to tell, so he just assumed that Patrick was trying to scare him. Ha-ha, scare a ghost. He'd die laughing. It was easy to supply his own jokes in his head.

"So, is he dead or getting groceries like you told me earlier?"

"You do pay attention! Good, that's good news. I hate people, and ghosts, who don't listen when other people are talking." Patrick got up. "He's grocery shopping. We nearly set the place on fire last night, so we're going to start buying things that may not necessarily need the stove anymore."

"How did you nearly set this place on fire?"

"We got distracted." Patrick paused. "When you see him, you will understand what I mean by distracted." Patrick walked back. "Come on, you can hang out with me while I make a sandwich. I'm way less depressing when I'm stuffing my face."

Brendon came in fifteen minutes later, with one depressing brown paper sack. He heard laughter and followed it. He nearly dropped the bag. Patrick looked up.

"Oh hey, Brendon. This is Ryan, the ghost. He's staying with us for tonight. That okay with you?"

Brendon just shrugged. He smiled at Ryan and then went to put away the groceries, pushing off the ground and floating off the ground as he put the non-perishables away.

Ryan watched him. "Hey, you can like...uh. Fly? Float?"

"I can fly," Brendon replied. "I like doing it at night, over Central Park sometimes. I've been seen once or twice so I don't do it very often anymore." Brendon grinned at Ryan. "It's sort of freeing, I have to admit."

"Did you...did you teach yourself?"

Brendon shook his head, and went to pour himself a glass of water from the filtration pitcher. "I've always been able to, actually. Since I was little."

Ryan looked over at Patrick, who was watching Brendon with a small smile on his face. "Did you start dating him because he could fly?"

Patrick shook his head, taking off his cap (it was green with the old 'Reading Rainbow' logo on it) and scratching the back of his head. "He didn't really tell me until we were living together."

Brendon sighed. "Because you were a paranormal detective! You basically tortured me once you found out I could fly."

"Because flying is normal not good news. Usually it means demons or possession or any number of horrible things. I wanted to save you!"

Ryan sighed. "If you two start fighting, I'm going to have to leave again, and travelling long distances sucks. Especially when you're a ghost."

"Hey, do you still have to pay the toll?" Brendon asked, doing a slow pirouette above the kitchen floor.

"Stop showing off," Patrick mumbled, and got up. "I gotta pack. I don't really know when I'm leaving, but I still have to pack."

"No, I don't," Ryan answered Brendon's question, and then watched Patrick walk back and into what he assumed was their bedroom. "Is he good in bed?"

Brendon blinked at him. "I didn't think ghosts actually cared about that."

"We might be dead but we're still conscious."

"That's not why I started dating him, but, since I'm a nice kid, yes, he is astounding in bed."

"He's not what I might call conventionally handsome."

"Neither are you," Brendon grumped. "Stop talking about the love of my life like that. No need to be rude in a person's house."

There was a loud crash, a clang and then silence from the backroom. Brendon rolled his eyes and got up, walking back into the bedroom. Ryan floated after him.

Patrick clutched the suitcase in both hands, staring up at the ceiling. "Am I dead?"

Brendon nudged him with his foot. "Nah, I think you'll live," Brendon teased gently, kneeling down next to him. "You could have asked me for help you know. I can just fly up there."

"I'm already using your ability too much as it is," Patrick murmured, then glanced at Ryan. "Uh, if they don't call us back, you're welcome to stay the night," he said to Ryan. "We don't have a piano, but I have a guitar."

"Brendon, you have the best boyfriend in the history of the world."

----

Spencer rubbed Pete's shoulders and sighed. "Listen, it's not that I don't trust you two together or anything, I just don't trust him." He rubbed up to the nape of Pete's neck, his fingers kneading away tension.

Pete leaned his head back; they kissed for a few moments before he pulled away. "I trust him. He knows what he's doing. He's a nice guy. He obviously likes what he's doing or else he wouldn't be doing it. What's not to trust?"

"The fact that he's not telling us reasons, or giving us any sort of explanations. He'll show us something weird, then throw something like 'We have to go to Chicago' without ever telling us why. And why can't I come?"

"You know, I'm sure if you just asked him, he'd let you go. He's not trying to keep secrets, but just think of how hard it must be trying to explain things like paranormal activity to people that are probably really sceptical about the whole process."

"Why are you defending him?" Spencer began messaging Pete's scalp. Pete murmured.

"We can't have arguments if you're going to insist on making me feel really, really good," Pete said. "I'm not..." He paused, unable to continue while Spencer was relaxing his whole body. "I'm not defending him, I'm just a little bit more understanding than you are, obviously."

"Are you calling me callous or something? Because I can stop giving you a massage."

"Spencer! Just. Let's talk about something else, please. As of right now, the subject is changed. And your fingers feel amazing."

"Okay, change of subject, then. Why won't you sleep in bed with me anymore?"

"Bad change of topic," Pete mumbled, sitting up and away from Spencer's magic fingers, turning towards him. "Listen carefully. I'm still not comfortable being a woman. This is all way, way too weird. I don't want to be next to you because I'm scared of doing something I'm not completely and utterly ready for. Does that make sense?"

Spencer ran his hands up Pete's sides, and Pete leaned in to kiss Spencer. They stayed close for a few moments, and Pete pressed his body against Spencer's.

"You're still Pete," Spencer whispered. "In a different wrapping. You're still the same person I love and care about and want to see happy. And you're not happy right now, and not being able to fix that is killing me."

Pete sighed and buried his face in Spencer's neck. "I'm sorry I'm being so weird about this. I'm sure I wouldn't be so crazy if you know, this was a completely normal thing to have happened. But it isn't, and it wasn't, and right now I need to just...figure out where I'm going and what I'm doing and how I can deal with this better." He touched Spencer's face. "As long as you're with me while I'm figuring things out, I couldn't ask for more."

"Well duh. Think you can get rid of me just because you're packing girl parts?" Spencer hugged him. "I dated girls once. This is gonna be a piece of cake."

----

Gabriel sat with eyes closed as he listened. There was a dull roar in his ears, but the outside world was hushed, far away. He was listening to whatever it was, inside of him, and he was obeying.

So far, the rules had been simple. But the thing was still there. He had seen it, floating in the subway. He hadn't been told that it might be a ghost. He was just told to destroy it utterly.

How to destroy a ghost, though? How could he catch it off guard? And with what weapon? He took a breath, and lay back on the cool grass. The thing inside of him raged, telling him to be ready.

Ready for what?

The revolution, of course. The end of all things, and the beginning of a new world. Gabriel wasn't sure that he would be the leader of this new world, but he was definitely its messenger, the harbinger.

That is why his mother had named him Gabriel. He had brought the news to any who would here. God's trusted voice.

He knew the thing that settled in his chest was no God, and sometimes he wondered if he should be frightened. The thing reassured him, made him forget to be afraid.

Ryan had been the catalyst, the very beginning. There were others.

Gabriel sat up. The cobra was coiled deep inside his chest, and his body thrummed with the poison that coursed through his veins. He looked up at the sky, and could not see the stars.

Soon, the sky would be filled with more than just stars. Gabriel knew this, had seen the signs, had listened to the cobra. He smiled.

"Let it go, there's no way you can save it now," he whispered in the darkness. The cobra uncoiled itself and reared its head back.

Gabriel had to find the robot who had helped him sacrifice the man who was now a ghost. What had his name been? Joe. Joe had believed every word he said.

If only all of his disciples could be so well behaved, so disciplined, so willing. Gabriel had to find him, and quickly, before Joe became corrupted by the world outside. This world could kill a man, and had, so many times.

This is why Gabriel clung to the cobra, clung to his revelation. He felt saved by the cobra, and would try his best to impart the cobra's wisdom onto his followers.

"Put your fucking fangs up," Gabriel whispered up towards the sky. "Have you heard of my religion?" He laughed as he imagined the tracts he could write. The lost souls, the misshapen, the hipster. They all needed something to follow. And he would be their leader, and they would love him.

The cobra had told him who were next to be sacrificed. Virgins wouldn't be necessary this time, but the leaders would be. Pete, Jon, Spencer. William. The beautiful, charismatic boys.

Gabriel supposed he was in love with William. The cobra told him quite simply that he didn't have time for love. But William made him stray, more than once. But when the time came, he would be sacrificed like all the others. Only this time, this time Gabriel would take a memento.

There had been no time for Ryan. Gabriel had saved a bit of jewellery from Ryan, but had not spared him another thought when they left, although he had arranged him comfortably.

So why was he still here? It made Gabriel seethe. He had done as instructed. Was Ryan a virgin or no? The cobra had told him he was. Why would the cobra lie? Gabriel sat up, and pulled his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees.

Sometimes, Gabriel would think of things past, before he was visited by the cobra. They were fading quickly, those memories.

Gabriel pushed himself off the ground. There was still work to do.